Her
by Seth Keegan
Summary: An ordinary night at the Bronze sees the arrival of a mysterious girl with her eyes set on Xander.


**Her**

Xander sat alone at the table, nursing his off-brand fountain cola and listening to the horrible music, occasionally rearranging his posture in search of a more manly way to sulk.

Willow was out on one of her ever-more-frequent chat dates with the ever-more-creepy Malcolm, and Buffy had stepped away a half-hour ago when Angel had appeared out of the shadows, no doubt bearing an ominous warning of imminent doom. Judging from the frequent casual hair-brushings and lingering stares, however, he judged that conversation was leaning less toward life-or-death and more toward bump-and-grind, so he doubted she'd be back anytime soon.

He thought about going home, but it was only 7:45 – his dad would be drunk, but not passed out yet. So here he stayed, practicing his most macho nonchalance.

He was debating the merits of trying to convince the new guy at the bar that he'd simply misplaced his ID when he spotted her by the entrance.

She was a brunette, about his age, tall and skinny, with a figure that reminded him of Willow but stirred feelings in him she had never touched. Her long hair swayed slightly as she surveyed the room, and there was something about her that made him swear she was glowing, even though he could see clearly that she was lit exactly the same as everyone else in the Bronze that night.

Her eyes caught his across the room, and locked on. Embarrassed to be caught gawking, he quickly lengthened his stare as if he were idly scanning the crowd. He felt his gaze pulled inexorably back to her, only to find her eyes still fixed on him, narrowed slightly as she studied him. The corner of her mouth turned up in a slight half-smile that gave her an air of kittenish allure and she began making her way across the room in a beeline for his table.

Panic gripped him as he quickly ran his fingers through his hair and attempted to pull his jacket closed over his distinctly unmasculine floral-print Hawaiian shirt. He cupped his hand over his mouth and nose to check his breath, cursing himself for not being prepared the one day a gorgeous girl decided to give him the time of day.

He had just resumed what he imagined was a gruff, man-of-the-world pose when she approached his table. Taking a glance that he was afraid might have lingered too long, he took in her outfit – low-riding jeans that clung to her hips and a slinky top cut to showcase a bare and extremely well-toned midriff.

"This seat taken?" she said, as he jerked his eyes back up to her face.

"Huh?" He was definitely not off to the most suave of starts.

Her smile widened as she ran her fingers along the edge of the seat Buffy had vacated earlier.

"I said, can I sit?"

Her eyes lit with amusement as he stammered out a grunting affirmative, gesturing to the seat and feeling like a caveman presented with a PlayStation.

"Thanks," she said, coyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Can I have a sip?"

"Huh?" Repeating himself now. It was amazing he wasn't fighting the ladies off with a stick.

She lifted her chin slightly to indicate his soda. "Do you mind? Thirsty."

"Sure, yeah. Great." At this point, she might have asked for one of his kidneys and received the same response.

She could easily have reached over and taken the cup from where she was sitting, and he had fully expected her to do so. Instead, she leaned over the table toward him, wrangled the straw to her lips, and drank in a few sips with a coquettish smile, keeping her eyes locked on his.

It was, he reflected once he regained his higher-order reasoning capacities, the single sexiest thing he had ever seen.

"Thanks," she said, straightening back up in her seat, leaving behind a lingering trace of her perfume.

"Don't mention it," he said, finding himself at a loss for words. "I'm—"

"Xander Harris," she interrupted him, smiling. "I know."

Caught completely off-guard, he was struck by the fleeting thought that this whole conversation ought to be taking place in black-and-white and narrated by the gruff voice of one of those actors from the '50s.

"Do... do I know you?" He was sure he didn't, because he couldn't conceive of having forgotten about someone like her. Even despite her air of mystery, her cheerleader-caliber looks and her willingness to be seen with him in public, there was an ineffable quality to her he was drawn to like a magnet.

"Nope," she said, the slight shake of her head causing her long brown hair to sway. He waited for her to elaborate, but she just sat there, smiling knowingly.

He was starting to get the feel of this obviously flirtatious back-and forth. "So, how'd you know my name?"

"Magic," she said, with a conspiratorial grin.

He chuckled as a smile came to his own lips. Once he had gotten over the initial impact of her appearance – both in general and at his table specifically – he found she was surprisingly easy to relax around. Whoever she actually was.

"So," he said, leaning forward to speak in a lower tone over the din of the crowd. "You know my name. How 'bout you tell me yours?"

"Huh-uh," she said, shaking her head and leaning forward to match his pose. She dropped her voice and let her eyebrows rise briefly. "Secret."

He grinned, feeling more comfortable with a girl he stood a chance with than he had in... ever. Sure, he'd been a bit slow on the uptake, but he felt he'd found his bearings, and she definitely seemed interested. Time to break out the Harris charm.

"All right, Dark and Mysterious Stranger, I was just getting up to get a refill." He indicated his nearly-empty cup. "Can I get you something?"

"Sure," she said, shrugging her shoulders and pouting, "if you don't like sharing with me."

So much for charm. After a panicked moment of mental backpedaling while trying to form a coherent apology and explanation, he noticed the teasing playfulness in her eyes. She shared a smile with him that set his pulse racing, and he stepped away from the table, making his way over to the bar to place his order.

He silently offered thanks to whichever higher power had been listening to him recently while he waited for his drinks. He was sneaking his sixth glance back to the table when he was startled back to reality by Buffy sidling up next to him.

"Who's the cutie?" she asked, never one to beat around the bush.

He shrugged, happily. "She just sat down and we started talking," he said, picking up his drinks. "I think it's going really well."

He cast her a pleading stare, willing her to grasp his unspoken message.

"Oh, great!" she said, grabbing his elbow and taking a few steps back toward the table. "You should introduce me, I'd love to meet her!"

"Buffy!" he shouted, switching to full panic mode and trying to keep her still while not spilling the soda. "Buffy, wait, I..."

She stopped and turned around with a grin. "Relax, Xander, I'm just kidding. I'm not even here."

She snuck another glance at the stranger occupying her vacated seat. "She is pretty much a hottie. Haven't seen her around before, what's her name?"

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, he matched her gaze. "I don't know, she hasn't told me."

She turned back to him and arched an eyebrow.

"You sure you don't need any help?" He shot her an angry glare, and she relented, holding up her palms in an 'I surrender' gesture. "Fine, fine. You go have fun, I'm patrolling tonight."

She moved to step around him, then paused and jammed her index finger into his chest. "But I want details tomorrow, mister."

"Thanks, Buff," he said as she vanished back into the crowd. He took a breath to steel himself, then made his way back to the table.

The as-yet-anonymous girl smiled at him as he set her soda down in front of her with a flourish.

"I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

"Well, you obviously don't know me very well, then," he said as he sat down in front of his own drink.

He reached into his pocket and removed a second straw, which he dropped into his soda, inclining it toward her. "Just in case," he said, with a wink. He actually winked at a girl, and she didn't laugh at him. This must be how football players felt.

Taking a sip of her own drink, she said, "Actually I do. Know you, that is."

"Somehow I got that feeling," he said. "Don't suppose you plan on telling me how?"

She shook her head again, her big blue eyes lighting with mystery, clearly enjoying keeping him in the dark.

"Told you, magic."

"Magic, huh. All right, well at least tell me something about you," he said, relishing her quirky playfulness. "Where're you from?"

"L.A., originally," she said. "We moved to Sunnydale when I was ten, right after my parents split up."

A strange expression flittered across her face, and she quickly closed her mouth, taking another drink of her soda.

Xander wrinkled his brow in thought. Something about her struck him as vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it for the life of him.

"Are you sure I don't know you?"

She gave him that same knowing smile. "Uh-huh."

"So you don't go to Sunnydale High?"

"Nope, just passing through town," she said, oblivious to the confusion furrowing his brow. "I'm going back home tomorrow."

He was more lost than ever. She'd said she moved here early on; shouldn't she already be home?

"But, I thought you said you..."

She set her soda down and stood up, and for a horrifying second he thought she was about to walk off. Instead, she smiled down at him and said, "Dance with me."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to distract me."

"Yup," she said, taking his hands in each of her own. "Dance with me."

They stepped out onto the dance floor as the band struck up a series of ballads. At least, he thought they were supposed to be ballads, the band wasn't good enough for their music to be immediately recognizable. It was slow, whatever it was, and at first she kept a small but respectable distance from him, the first sign of anything besides absolute confidence she'd displayed all night.

Before the first song was over, though, she had nestled her body close to his, his hands wrapped around her waist, hers around his neck, as she rested her head against his shoulder. She was tall, a few inches taller than Buffy, but still small enough to settle against him as if he had been molded for her.

He felt his nerves and self-doubt vanish as he danced with her, reveling in the experience of holding her against him. The second song passed, and then the third, and he felt increasingly more confident in his movements. She responded more to him as they danced, that same smile gracing her lips whenever their eyes would meet before coming in close to him again.

He was so lost in the experience that it took him a second to realize when the band changed the pace and jumped into a rousing, fast number with an overly strong bass line. He regretted having to let go of her as she stepped away to a distance more appropriate for larger movements.

He found himself somewhat unnerved, but she was clearly in her element, hands raised over her head and hair swinging hypnotically in time with the enthusiastic chords of the band's lead guitarist. Sensing his discomfort, she drew him in with one arm, swaying and moving from side to side, pressing against him and pulling away. He'd seen people dance like this before; jocks, cheerleaders, the people who were good at everything – they were the ones with enough confidence to dance like that. He'd had no idea how incredible it felt to be caught up in the moment, moving in an increasingly intimate rhythm to the pulse of the music.

She continued as the songs played on, grabbing his hand clinging to her waist, and held it above her head as she did a half turn to stand with her back pressed up against him. She continued to dance, back pressed against him, eyes closed to feel the music. She lifted her hand to cling to the back of his neck and tilted her head to the side as she moved her hips against his, using him for leverage as she dipped and swayed.

Xander was overwhelmed, and embarrassingly aroused. She must have been able to tell, as close to him as she was pressing, but she showed no signs of objection. She grabbed his hand from her hip and placed it on her stomach, encouraging him to tighten his embrace as she pulled his head down to her neck.

The scent of her hair filling his nose mixed with the blood-rush of the dance and clouded his mind. He was kissing her neck before he realized it, and she increased the pressure against his head so that he couldn't have stopped if he'd been inclined to. As the song built up to a finale, she turned back around to face him, eyes wild, and threw both arms around his neck, pressing her body close to his. She drew herself up and kissed him passionately, drawing his tongue into her mouth.

They broke away as the song finished, staring into each other's eyes as the fevered pulse of exertion faded, leaving them both winded. In unspoken agreement, they left the dance floor, oblivious to the stares ranging from befuddled to envious being sent their way.

They sat back at their table and, after taking several gulps of his soda to cool himself off, he pushed his stool to an intimate distance from hers. He kept an arm around her waist, feeling totally at ease in a romantic situation for the first time in his life.

"You're really good at that," he whispered to her, teasingly leaving ambiguous whether he meant the dance or the kiss. It applied equally well in either case.

She smiled at his repartee and curled her hand inside his.

"You're good inspiration."

"I inspire you, huh?"

"Mm-hmm." She quirked one corner of her mouth up. "Always have."

"Don't tell me, magic, right?" He'd decided it was better to go with the flow; she'd reveal what she wanted to tell him about herself on her own time. He was happy to enjoy the ride and treat the back-and-forth like a game, every banter making her more intriguing to him. They chatted quietly, keeping mostly to idle subjects while he looked for excuses to touch her hair or her hand and she casually deflected his questions about her identity or her past.

He was completely engrossed in her, chatting flirtatiously and letting her words slide like honey in his ears. He barely paid attention to what he was saying, more interested in listening to the sound of her voice and watching her lips form the words. As he drained the dregs from what he calculated was his seventh cola of the night, he realized he had lost all track of time and that it was now a few minutes shy of 11:00.

He cleared his throat and put his most casual tone into his voice, hoping his childlike eagerness didn't come across.

"Do you want to get out of here? We can catch a late movie or something..."

"Actually..." she said, with a glance at her own watch and a tone that caused Xander's heart to plummet. "...it's getting kind of late."

He felt sucker-punched, and he knew it was his own fault. He must've come on too strong, pressed her too fast...

"Will... will you walk me home?" Her request came suddenly, spoken in a nervous tone that surprised him. He looked into her eyes, and the intensity there made him grasp her meaning with the clarity of a revelation. At a loss for words, suddenly filled with anxiety, he managed a nod and a weak smile, and stood up to escort her out of the club.

They walked the few short blocks in companionable silence, his arm around her waist, as she led him to a rundown motel chain, complete with the cliché flickering sign. They stopped at one of the ground-level rooms as she fished a key out of her jeans.

"You're living here?" he asked, incredulous.

"I told you, I'm just passing through," she said, smiling and biting her lower lip slightly. "I'm just staying here tonight."

Xander's heart broke; he hadn't thought she was lying to him, he'd just hoped she was playing coy.

"So... you're really leaving?"

He was astonished again at the intensity of the emotion he read in her eyes, a sadness mixed with eager desire. She stepped forward and kissed him again, lightly this time, her lips brushing against his with a gentle, sweet pressure. When she broke away, she whispered, "Not tonight."

She unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal a spartan motel room with no sign of personalization. She lead him in by the flap of his jacket, and he sat down on the bed and fiddled nervously with his hands as she latched the door back and joined him.

She leaned forward and started kissing him again, gently at first, exploring his mouth with hers but escalating in growing passion. He let her hair fall through his fingers as he clutched at her, pressing her into him as she responded. He knew he was getting caught up, and it took all he had to pull away from her.

"Please," he said, gasping for breath, "please, if we're... if what I think is going... I have to know your name."

She smiled at him and ran a thumb down his jawline to rest it against his chin.

"It's Dawn," she whispered, then pulled him in to capture his lips again.

"Dawn..." he whispered into her ear as she broke off to remove his jacket. Maybe it was because he had waited so long to learn it, but her name tasted sweet in his mouth. He kicked off his shoes and managed to remove his socks with his toes as she stripped his shirt off and ran her hands over his bare chest.

"Dawn what?" he said, looking down at her from the height of his euphoria.

She smiled, pushing him back on the bad so she could straddle him.

"Just Dawn." She pulled her shirt up and off over her head, and leaned forward on top of him, guiding his hands around her back to the clasp of her bra. He had no idea how long it was supposed to take to unfasten it, but distracted as he was by her enthusiastic lips on his, he was pretty sure he managed to awkwardly miss the average by several seconds.

His mental self-critique faded into silence as she leaned back and let lacy piece of black fabric fall from her shoulders. She tossed it aside and turned back to him self-consciously, leaving him struck with awe as her hair streaming down her back framed her body in a contrast of dark brown on white. He stared at her, marveling, as his mind again insisted that, despite being illuminated solely by the low-quality yellow bulbs in the motel's overhead fixture, she nevertheless glowed with an otherworldly light just beyond his eyes' ability to perceive.

"God, Dawn, you're beautiful," he gasped. "You're perfect."

She smiled, blush filling face and running down to her breasts as she leaned back down onto him. He pressed her tight against him as he kissed her, running his hands up her body, trying to memorize the feel of every curve.

She left him again and he propped himself to watch as she stood at the edge of the bed. She undid her jeans and let them drop to the floor, then reached tentatively for the clasp of his. He wore nothing underneath, so he felt this was the moment of truth.

Without realizing he was doing it, he gently grabbed her wrist and held it. She turned a curious glance to him.

"Dawn, I..." he stammered, struggling against his escalating desire to find the words he felt he needed to say. "I'm... I haven't... I've never..."

"I know," she said with a soft smile. "It's okay. I haven't either."

He propped himself up on his side as she lie down next to him. It was an effort to keep his hands off her as he tried to understand.

"You... then... why?"

She kissed him, gently, and let her fingertips trail down his chest to his stomach.

"That's why I came here," she said. "For you. For this, tonight."

"But... why me?" Tales of the gift horse flooded his head, but he couldn't keep himself from asking. Beautiful girls didn't just show up out of nowhere to sleep with you, there had to be a reason. "I don't even know you. Why me?"

"Because I love you," she said, and he reeled at her sincerity, the emotion flooding her eyes speaking the truth to her words. She pressed him down on his back and kissed him, standing and leaning over him to unclasp his jeans and pull down the zipper.

"I've always loved you,"she whispered.

"Dawn... I don't understand..." He abandoned himself to her machinations, and soon lie naked on the bed.

"I know," she said, dropping her panties down her legs and stepping out of them. Completely exposed to one another, she lie down next to him again, and ran her thumb over his lips. "I know," she repeated, then kissed him.

He let his doubts and questions fade as he kissed her down her neck, and began exploring her body with his lips. He lingered on her breasts and stomach, kissing and caressing her, her skin velvet beneath him. He paused at her navel, suddenly nervous and uncertain whether to proceed. She let her fingertips run through his hair and he heard her murmur encouragement, and he pushed aside his acute awareness of his own lack of experience and continued, gently, hoping his awkwardness wasn't evident.

She responded to him with a building excitement, rocking slightly and panting. He heard her breathe his name and he broke away, pulling himself back up to face her. She lifted her head to kiss him, biting gently at his lower lip as he positioned himself over her. She lie back beneath him, and he stared deep into her eyes.

"Are you sure?" He'd never imagined he'd be so hesitant, but this wasn't something he was willing to rush. He'd only met her hours ago, but he'd already come to care for her, even if he didn't understand her at all.

Her gaze held no misgivings, no hesitations. She didn't speak, she just nodded slowly. He leaned forward to kiss her again as he entered her, gently. He gasped at the sensation, and was dismayed when he saw the grimace of pain on face.

"Dawn, are you..." he said, the thought of hurting her making his chest ache. "Are you okay?"

She bit her lower lip gently, and placed a hand on his chest. "I'm... it's okay. Just give me a second."

He stay stock still, terrified to move lest he cause her any more pain. After a short time, she let loose a held breath, kissed him again and whispered into his ear, "Okay."

"Are you sure?"

"It's okay," she said, drawing him in, "It's only the first time."

He tousled his fingers in her long hair as he continued, slowly, gauging her reaction. She clutched him closer, encouraging him, and they settled into a gradually building rhythm that threatened to overwhelm his senses as he filled every one of them with her.

He felt his passion building in him when she began to breath heavily, arching her back and pressing tight against him and biting at his earlobe. He cradled her in his arms, taking his weight on his elbows to avoid crushing her, as she gasped wordless cries into his ear, bucking against him and tipping him over the point of no return. She let her fingers run over the flexing muscles of his back as his own climax took over, releasing a night's worth of pent-up desire as he stared into her eyes. He felt himself drowning in their azure depths as he heaved in the final throes of ecstasy, sinking below the surface of her to swim in the waters of her soul.

"Dawn..." he gasped, a flurry of emotions flooding him as he barely managed to roll off of her before collapsing face up onto the bed next to her. She cuddled up next to him, fitting into his side as perfectly as she had before. They lie together in silent amazement for what might have been minutes or days, her hand gently stroking the muscles of his chest and his fingers running through her hair as his mind floated in a dreamy haze.

She got up to use the bathroom at some point, jogging him momentarily back to full wakefulness. He swore to himself that he would stay awake until she came back, but he felt like he'd been drugged and his drowsiness soon pulled him easily into unconsciousness.

He awoke gradually, stirred by a shard of sunlight penetrating the seam of the motel's blackout curtains. He instinctively tried to shift his body to angle away from the intruding brightness, but found his movement hampered by a beautiful girl lying curled up against his side.

The memories of the previous night flooded back to him as he lie there, amazed, drinking in her body with his eyes. Unable to resist the urge to touch her, he gently stroked his fingers through her long hair, as lightly as possible to avoid waking her.

He wasn't altogether successful as she stirred and murmured her way back to consciousness. He briefly felt guilty for having disturbed her, but found that feeling abolished when she sleepily raised her arms above her head and arched her back in a morning stretch that, curled against him as she was, brought back with clarity the sensations of the night before.

She yawned dreamily and opened her eyes, smiling when her gaze focused on him. He stoked her hair around her ear again, then leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on her lips.

"Good morning," he whispered, awash in an altogether unfamiliar feeling of absolute contentment.

"Morning," she said, returning his kiss with one of her own. A sudden panic took her, and she sat bolt upright in bed. "What time is it?"

He sat up and glanced at the bedside clock.

"Seven and some change," he said, taking her chin in his hand and moving her head to look at him. "What's wrong?"

Her shoulders slumped and she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I have to leave in less than an hour," she said, sadly.

"So soon?" She nodded slowly, her hair tickling his chest. "Stay a little longer, I'll pay for your ticket back."

She lifted her head and kissed his jaw just under his ear. "It's not the kind of place you fly to."

He held her out by her shoulders to look her in the eye, unable to accept the thought of her leaving now that the time was almost here.

"Then I'll go with you," he said, the words falling from his mouth without thought. "I'll take a couple days, my teachers will never miss me, my parents will probably be glad to be rid of me..."

She gave him a sad smile and gently let her fingers trail down the side of his face.

"It's... not the kind of place you visit, either," she said softly.

He ran his fingers through his hair roughly and jumped off the bed to his feet, unable to maintain a relaxed pose with his mounting frustration.

"Damn it, Dawn, I don't understand any of this!" The sad look on her face made him immediately soften his tone. He knelt by the bed and took her hands in his. "It can't just end like this."

"Can't I ever see you again?" he said, his voice breaking. He stared into her eyes, willing the bond between them to change her mind.

She was quiet for a moment, seeming to deliberate with herself, then she lowered her face.

"You'll see me again."

"When?"

"In about four years," she said quietly. She met his eyes again, and he saw the tears welling in them. "You won't recognize me, I'll be younger than you are now, but you'll see me again."

"Dawn," he said, lifting her hand to his cheek, "please tell me what's going on."

She smiled again, but the tears dropping from her eyes belied it.

"I told you already," she said. "Magic."

The pieces fit together in his head for the first time, striking him dumb. He'd been so overwhelmed at first by the intensity of her, and then carried along by their growing connection that he hadn't had a chance to try to work out all her cryptic statements. It was only now, desperate for her not to leave, that he was capable of grasping the hints she'd been giving him.

"The future..." he spoke in a hushed tone. "You... you're from the future. That's how you know me."

She nodded silently, tears dripping off her chin.

"You came here... from the future, with magic?"

She wiped her tears and shrugged slightly. "Things... they were getting bad. Scary. I... I just wanted..."

She closed her eyes again, trying to compose herself as she searched for the words.

"I made a wish." She ran her fingers through his hair gently. "… a real one. It got granted."

He reeled back with the shock of it as she continued. "I asked for one night, one perfect night with the person I love, when he's young enough to be with me."

"Me..." His throat was dry as he came to terms with what she was saying. "How... how old am I, where you're from?"

"Old enough that you never saw me as anything more than Little Dawnie." She sounded pained, thinking about it. She had a right to be; he knew objectively that a big enough age gap would be a nonstarter, but it he found it impossible to be objective when faced with the hurt she still felt.

He barely knew her and he'd felt the sincerity of her words the first time she'd told him she loved him, had been able to see it in her eyes even if he couldn't understand it. If future-him, the one she knew and had fallen in love with in the first place, had responded by treating her like a kid with a crush...

The train of thought led him to seize on something.

"But, that can't be anymore," he started, struggling to find the right way to express what he was thinking. "Now that I've met you, future-me then will remember now-me being with you now and..."

He'd managed to confuse himself, but she understood what he was trying to say.

"That's part of the magic. They didn't tell me how it works, exactly, but everything about last night was protected. This room will never show up as having been rented out tonight. After I leave, no one at the Bronze will remember me, I think even you'll forget about me." She gave him that quirky half-smile he'd been smitten with from the very beginning, albeit this time tinged with sadness. "That's why I wasn't worried about... consequences."

He was lost again for a moment, then felt the blood drain from his face as he realized that he hadn't given a single thought all night to the condom he'd been keeping in his wallet like a futile good-luck charm for a year and a half.

"It's okay," she said, seeing his reaction. "Protected. For the twelve hours I'm here, nothing can go wrong."

"It already has," he said, moving to sit next to her on the bed to relieve the cramp in his legs. He stared straight ahead, unable to look at her without breaking down. "You're leaving."

She rested her head on his shoulder and interlaced her fingers with his.

"I have to," she said, "I have to go back, you see that, right?"

He didn't see it, couldn't. She'd come to him so suddenly, like a storm blowing over the desert, and he'd been caught in the ferocity of her passion. He hadn't known her 24 hours, but already everything within him was screaming not to let her go. He tried to think of the words to say, the argument or plea that would convince her to stay with him, but he came up with nothing. She was going to leave, before he'd really had a chance to get to know her, and all he could do was sit in silence and hold her hand.

The cheap incandescents suddenly began to flicker and the air in the room took on a charge that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Dawn leapt to her her feet.

"It's time, Xander, that's the portal opening," she said, hurriedly throwing on her jeans and shirt, holding her underwear and shoes in her arm. She turned back to him and kissed him passionately. "Don't be sad. This was everything I ever wanted."

She turned from him to the vortex manifesting near the front entrance, standing with her back to him, awkwardly wedging into her shoes while she waited for it to open. He felt like his heart had melted and was slipping through his fingers, and he had to stop it. He stood up and spun her around by her elbow.

"Don't," he said. "Don't go."

"Xander..." He didn't let her finish.

"I know that there's a million reasons why you have to go back. I know you've got a life, and a family, and responsibilities, and I get that," he wasn't even filtering his words consciously, just letting them flow straight from his heart. "I know there's absolutely no reason for you to stay here."

He held her hands and gazed into her eyes as the portal irised open behind her.

"Stay anyway."

She bit her lower lip, and he could tell this was killing her, but he had to do everything he could, try everything he could, or he'd live the rest of his life wondering 'What if...'

"Xander," she said with a backward glance, "the future... there's stuff going on. It's bad, I... I don't have time to explain, but... they need my help."

He stepped closer, mere inches separating them.

"Dawn, there's always bad stuff going on." His words were coming quicker now, he was laying his heart at her feet. "I've only been dealing with it for a few months, but it's enough to know it never goes away. We just have to fight it when it shows up, and try to find some happiness wherever we can."

He ran his fingers through her hair, and she leaned her head against his hand, tears flowing freely.

"I don't care about future-world," he said, "and future-me is an asshole for not seeing what an amazing girl you are, however old he is. All I care about is this world, now, and the way I feel about you."

His own tears were falling as she backed away slowly, inching toward the portal.

"Don't go," he said, pleading.

He could tell she was torn. The decision had to be ripping her up inside. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked up at him through her bangs, flapping wildly around her head in the wind from the vortex behind her. Her mouth moved wordlessly for a second before she managed to swallow down the emotion choking her.

"Tell me you love me," she said, the pain straining her voice, looking to him with a desperate hope. "Tell me you love me, and... and I'll stay."

His chest seized and he stepped forward, the words half-formed on his lips. He would've told her anything to get her to stay, but looking into her eyes, blue pools of sadness and unrequited emotion, he knew he couldn't lie to her.

"I can't," he said softly, feeling his own heart breaking as he did. "I'm sorry. I can't..."

She closed her eyes and spun quickly towards portal to hide her tears as he continued, "...yet."

She inclined her head back to look at him, wide-eyed, over her shoulder.

"I've only known you a day, Dawn. That's not long enough to fall in love," he said, feeling unburdened as he lay the truth bare. "But it's long enough to know I could."

This was all he had left; he had drained his emotional reservoir. If she still left him, he'd know that he'd done and said all he could to explain to her how he felt.

She turned back to him, a silhouette against the portal that by now had grown to encompass most of the front wall.

He stepped forward and took her hand again.

"Give me the chance. Stay with me," he said, nodding derisively at the portal behind her. "We'll make our own future."

She was still for the space of a few quick breaths, then looked back to peer into the shimmering depths of the vortex. She turned to him again, lips pressed tight in anxious fear, and threw her arms around him, pressing tight against him and burying her tear-streaked face into his neck.

He held her tight, like a drowning man to his life-preserver, as the magical vortex raged and crackled, and eventually diminished, folding in on itself until it disappeared with a pop that triggered a bolt of static electricity.

They held each other for some time, taking comfort in each other's physical presence, steadying themselves as the harrowing swell of emotions subsided.

She pulled back slightly to look up at him.

"Wh... what happens now?"

He thought quickly, and came to the only possible conclusion: Giles. He'd know what to do with the sudden appearance of a girl from the future into their time.

He cupped her face in one hand.

"I've got some friends I think you should meet," he said. "The librarian at our school, he knows about this stuff. He deals with magic all the time, he'll know what to do."

"Giles?" she said, a sudden optimism filled her eyes, followed by a rush of anxiety. "Oh, God, Buffy! She's gonna kill me!"

He was once again adrift in a sea of confusion, which he'd come to regard as the norm with her.

"How do you know... why would Buffy care?"

Her eyes lighted with the characteristic mischievous playfulness he'd found so intoxicating from the beginning.

"Xander... there's a lot I have to tell you."

He kissed her, and held her close. There'd be time for her to tell him everything, time to learn all about her. Time for him to learn to love her as she loved him.

They had their whole future to make.


End file.
